1. Ella

CHAPTER 1

ELLA

"I'm sorry, he asked for what now?"

"A cheeky little kiss," I say with a groan. I'm sitting in the staff room at work, having lunch with my colleague-turned-best-friend, Millie. She's getting the full rundown of my disaster of a date; it's been three days and I finally have the time to tell her all about it. I still can't shake the awful feeling I left the date with.

"And even though you said no, he went in for it anyway? What the fuck!" Millie exclaimed. A few of the older English teachers look our way, frowning at our inappropriateness.

"Yup. Thankfully, one of the bartenders intervened. Came out to give me my jacket, even though I didn't have one. I'm pretty sure it's his, actually."

"Well, thank God he jumped in. I can't imagine what would have happened if he hadn't. I know what you're like, Ella Hart, you would have kissed the guy because you don't like confrontation. What happened after the bartender interrupted?"

"Thankfully I was able to get into my car without any trouble. And then I cried for a bit, felt sorry for myself, and drove home. You know, the usual routine after a date."

"Oh, Ella…"

"What? I wish I was kidding. It's dismal out there, Millie. Dismal. You just wouldn't know. Little miss, I've been happily married for six years." I say, sulking.

"I know, I know. I just hate seeing you like this. Men fucking suck." She once again draws attention from the older English teachers, one of them shaking her head and telling us to shush.

"Preaching to the choir," I mumble.

We both work at Lake View College, a rather conservative secondary school in Adelaide. I've been here for six years, and Millie started working here two years ago as an English teacher. She was quiet and timid at first, until she discovered my bookstagram page and saw the types of books I enjoyed reading. I'll never forget the day she waltzed into the library, sat down at my desk with a pen and paper, and asked me for all my favourite smutty book recommendations. I nearly fell off my chair with laughter, but I gave her a list and sent her on her way. Fast forward two weeks, and we were inseparable. Our lives couldn't look any more different, she's been married for six years to her absolute golden retriever of a husband, Clay. They own a house and are looking at starting a family soon. And then there's me, perpetually single, renting a low-income house and living off of mostly Nutrigrain and pasta. We don't make sense as friends, but somehow, we work beautifully. Plus, we share the same birthday, January 2nd.

"I'm so glad that the bartender noticed what was happening, though. At least you experienced one man showing decency. Did you happen to get his name?" she asks.

"Nope. I have no idea who he is! But I should probably go back to return his jacket and thank him properly."

"I wonder if he's single." She grins and waggles her eyebrows at me.

I groan again. "Ugh, no. I've already had one dating fail this week. I will not set myself up for another one."

Honestly, I don't think my heart could take another failed date. That date I had with Jed was the first one in months, and the only reason I actually went was because of Millie bullying me into it. I don't blame her, he looked so promising, and he seemed so normal online. But once again I've been reminded to never trust the internet. Dating is exhausting. I'm so sick of having to start from the beginning, giving my life story over and over again. I would love nothing more than for the love of my life to be someone I already know, someone who knows me well enough that I don't have to explain myself in such a robotic and rehearsed sort of way. Unfortunately, almost all of the men in my life are either married or gay. So, there isn't much, if any, chance of that ever happening.

"Besides," I say, "I didn't even get a good proper look at him; I was too busy trying to escape my bogan red flag of a date. He could be 19 years old for all I know. I'll go there on Sunday afternoon and hope that he's working. Want to come?"

"Ahh, I can't Sunday. Clay has organised a date night. I have no idea what he's got planned, other than that he told me to wear loose clothing. So, I'm either going to be eating my weight in food, or he wants easy access to what's underneath the loose clothing. Both options would be ideal, but either way, I'm getting stuffed."

I bark out a laugh. That's another thing I love about Millie, she's just as open and positive about sex as I am. It definitely makes working in a conservative school rather difficult at times. Last year, I had to hold Millie back from putting one of our teachers on blast for lecturing some of our female students about modesty and purity. But at least we have each other. My favourite time of the day is recess and lunch where we can chat shit, get it all out of our system before putting our professional hats back on and going our separate ways. Millie to the classroom, me to the library.

"Well, I can't wait to hear all about that! But okay, I'll go alone then. Should be fun." I say. Hopefully the ick feeling I have about Jimmies has disappeared by then. It's one of my favourite pubs, and I'd hate for one guy to ruin it for me.

The school bell rings, signifying the end of lunch. We pack up our things and head out of the staff room, but not before gaining some more judgemental looks from the English teachers again. I just give them my biggest and brightest smile and wish them a happy Friday. There's only a few more hours of work until I can get home to my bed and books for a quiet, uneventful weekend.

I'm lying in bed, scrolling through Instagram. My book is beside me, screaming for me to pick it up. Typical of me, I plan an evening specifically for reading and spend most of the night just staring at my phone. I'm finally about to put it down and pick up my book when I notice a message request. I open it and groan. Somehow, Jed has found my Instagram page.

Jed

Hey Ella, for some reason I can't seem to find you on Tinder, there must have been a glitch or something, so I thought I'd try my luck on here. I really enjoyed spending time with you on Tuesday night, wanna come have a drink at my place this weekend? Perhaps have a bit of fun too? ;)

"Is he actually joking?" I mutter to myself. This guy must be delusional. How could he possibly think that I would like to see him again? I gave absolutely no signals that I was interested… I mean, I unmatched him on Tinder, and he seems to think that was just an error. Men. Honestly. Also, how is he this coherent online? I'm still blown away by this contrast. I'm tempted to just block the guy so I can put it behind me, but decide to respond. I'm not normally one for confrontation, but he needs to know how uncomfortable he made me feel and learn from it. Plus, I'm a couple of wines deep, alone in bed on a Friday night. I have nothing better to do.

Ella

Jed, I don't know what signals you thought I was giving you on Tuesday, but none of them implied that I would want to sleep with you. You cornered me and almost forced yourself on me after I told you I didn't want to kiss you. I felt really uncomfortable. I'm sorry, but it's just not going to happen. Perhaps you should reassess how you approach women, because backing them into a corner is not going to get you laid. Good luck for the future .

I take another sip of wine and wonder about the audacity of this man. Being single in this day and age is a fucking joke. Maybe I'd be better off alone. No one wants me for anything but my body anyway. Well, not even my body lately….

I take a deep breath to refocus. "Ella, stop. You're having those thoughts again," I say to myself, just like my therapist taught me. A trick to use when I start to have sad or negative thoughts that I usually just try to ignore—which never works, FYI. I now acknowledge these thoughts out loud, and if I do it enough, perhaps I'll detach myself and not obsess over them.

My phone vibrates and I open the response from Jed. His message makes me want to laugh, scream, and cry all at once.

Jed

Wow, didn't realise you were such a bitch. Why did you lead me on then? I don't need women advice from a stuck-up cow. Whatever, I didn't actually want to fuck you anyway. Enjoy being a lonely slut.

There is nothing more entertaining than a man-baby trying to insult a woman who rejected him. Lonely slut? That's a new one. It's also a pretty good oxymoron, though the man probably has no idea what that means. I wonder about the other women he's dated, and hope that they also had someone to save them from his advances. I should just leave it there, but I am a bitch. A petty one.

Ella

A good man takes advice on the chin. I guess you've just proven yourself to be the opposite of that. Enjoy fucking your hand for the rest of eternity.

I press send, wait until he's seen the message and then block him. I take screenshots, forward them to Millie, and then put down my phone to finish my glass of wine. I pick up my book and settle myself in for a couple of hours of smutty heaven. The best way to escape reality, in my humble opinion.